The Hunting Trip
by etteloc
Summary: It's their sanctuary, their second home. They never would believe the woods would betray them. Gale and Katniss get caught beyond the fence by an unlikely group of people. An alternative way the rebellion begins. Pre-Games, AU.
1. Trapped

**A/N: I tried to write a post-Mockingjay story where Gale and Katniss ended up together, but it just doesn't work. That made me sad. Then I realized there's about one good way to keep these two together: let them take off before the Games! But that would just be too easy, wouldn't it? **

**Then I think to myself...why is poaching such a crime in Panem? Who's in the hinterlands that will really care? **

**You'll have to read to find out.**

* * *

It's an unusually warm day in late April. Sunny, humid, and pushing eighty degrees with a haze in the distance warning that it's going to rain sooner rather than later. The woods are exploding with green – budding trees and grasses shooting out of the ground, careening towards the sky. You can smell the earth opening up after a long winter. Feels good to be alive.

We're a long ways from the fence. We shouldn't be out this far, but a buck caught our eye earlier that day and my mouth watered just thinking about it. It was far enough into the mating season to assume this specimen had done his job for the year, and we could poach him without much fuss about next year's population.

From the glint in her eye, I could tell she wouldn't mind the price the pelt and rack would bring in, either. At first I kept her around because she was handy with that bow. I let her stick around because she was nearly a good a trader as I was. Lately, though, it's becoming apparent how well Katniss reads me, knows me. My mind swims if I let myself think beyond that, so I keep it under wraps most days. I catch her eye and she grins, beads of sweat forming along her brow. Wet tendrils of hair loose from her braid frame her pretty face. Somewhere along the way she's lost her cap. She's abandoned her father's jacket back at our perch, a ratty old thing she always insists on wearing, even deep into the summer. There's a pile of game there, too, waiting for us to trade. She is on fire this afternoon and it's almost as thrilling as the chase.

The buck has been mostly oblivious to us. We've kept our distance and the wind's been picking up in the opposite direction, keeping the noise we make out away from his ears. We've been lucky the warm day's made him lazy – he's been taking his time going back through the woods. I point to a clearing up ahead where the woods opens up into a meadow. I can see the glimmer of a lake in the distance – I make a mental note to carefully retrace our steps so I can find this place again. She nods and creeps on ahead, kneeling to steady her aim and draws a bow from her quiver. I watch as she sights in, pulls back and releases.

My eyes follow the arrow – a clean shot, right through the neck of the animal. She's severed the jugular and the blood spills out as the animal tries to make a few, feeble attempts to escape. Katniss allows herself a victory _whoop!_ as she damn near skips toward the carcass. I grin and wonder how tired we're going to be once we drag this thing back to the Hob. We must be twelve miles in, at least.

I stride towards her as she unsheaths her knife in preparation for field dressing. I make cleaner cuts, but she's been wanting practice for awhile now. I'm almost to the clearing and open my mouth to tease her when I notice that she's gone rigid. Her knife is still in her hands but she's taken a decidedly defensive stance.

She hears me coming and whips her head around and mouths something to me. It takes me a minute to realize what she's trying to say. _Run._

Instinct's a funny thing. She's one of the few people in this world I trust without a shadow of doubt, but I find myself cemented in place. A man appears into my field of vision, reaching the deer and following the arrow's trajectory towards Katniss, whose hand I can see trembling though the knife has stayed poised.

This isn't the first time we've seen people in the woods – a sickening feeling returns to my stomach when I remember the boy and girl swallowed up by a hovercraft – but this man is decidedly well fed and far too clean to be one of the wildmen of the woods my father used to tell me about. A few more people appear from over a knoll and join him. A loud noise startles me out of my inaction and I sprint towards her, grabbing her arm and dragging her back with me. Before I can get her to snap out of the fear, a squadron of Peacekeepers appears out of nowhere and flank the party in front of us, weapons pointed at us. We freeze.

These Peacekeepers are not the bumbling excuse of a police force that graces the Seam and District 12—this is a decidedly well-trained and lethal group that can only be around to protect those in power who need it most.

"I wouldn't try to make a run for it, if I were you," calls a familiar voice from the group, though I'm having trouble placing it with a name. The people in the front part and an older man appears, with white hair and a steady gait. My grip on Katniss tightens as I recognize the face.

We've been caught poaching by President Snow.

* * *

_Next:_ Stranger Danger


	2. Prey

I could kick myself for being so stupid. We've let our guard down, and that's the number one don't of District 12. Don't ever think for a moment that you can relax.

Of course the woods aren't safe. Of course they're aware of what's beyond the boundaries of our stupid little district. Of course I'd get caught by them. The only thing making this worse is the knowledge that I've dragged her into this.

"At ease," Snow directs the Peacekeepers. Their weapons lower but Katniss and I stay in our place, unwilling to trust their truce. "Come. Introduce yourselves to our guests."

I strain my eyes to see who's flanked by the president. There's a group of adults in what I can assume is stately hunting attire, all with varying degrees of shock on their faces. The group seems split between disbelief and disgust. The Peacekeepers almost seem disheartened to be denied a chance to make the Capitol's will known. Katniss yanks her elbow from my grip, and I realize after seeing the red marks that my grip used a little more force than was necessary. She straightens up and dusts herself off, and turns to me with wide eyes eyes. They're imploring and as scared as she'll let herself be. I nod imperceptibly and we stride towards the group.

Every footstep feels like lead and I can feel the impact reverberate through my body. I'm one hundred percent sure I'm walking us to our death. We pass over the animal, hardly daring to acknowledge it and Katniss's signature arrow sticking out of its neck. My heart beats faster as I realize she may well bear the brunt of this crime. As we get nearer the group, my curiosity grows stronger. While District 12 is pretty homogenous in its looks – dark hair, olive skin in the Seam and pale, blue-eyed blonds up in town – we know the other districts to be a little more diverse.

But these other people, these _guests_, cannot be from Panem. My ears pick up on two of them speaking softly, but my mind can't understand what's being said between them. I chalk it up to an accent but then realize that they must be speaking in another language, because I can't pick up on a word at all. There are pairs of men and women in this group, I realize, who are from the other nations in the world.

Now, strictly speaking, Panem is convinced of its superiority on Earth. We don't hear from other places because we don't _need_ other places. At least that's what we hear in school and on Reaping Day. When the seas rose and the environment and landscape changed so dramatically in such a short time, there wasn't a country on the planet left unaffected by the change. But Panem, we're told, dealt with the change better than most. What people from around the world are doing here is beyond me, but I realize we've stumbled across something far more dangerous than any rebellion we could dream up in the Hob.

By the time we're within five feet of this hunting party, Katniss has gone white. I've steeled my face and am prepared to do all the talking, convincing them that the deer was my idea and hoping beyond hope that he'll let her go. Why not convince the foreigners that this is standard practice, citizens milling about the woods? Sure seems better than the execution I'm expecting momentarily, unless the rest of the world is as bloodthirsty as the Capitol.

I'm holding out hope that they're not.

"Ah yes," Snow says in his Capitol-accented voice, jaw barely opening. "I'm glad we've got a chance for you all to meet some citizens of one of our most productive districts. Won't you please share your names?"

The wind is picking up and I can see the clouds in the distance billowing into a telltale anvil. Even if we're released, we're going to get caught in a nasty storm on our way back. I think of places we've passed where we could take shelter, but it occurs to me that the Peacekeepers won't let us go far, release or not.

"Katniss Everdeen." She clears her throat and swallows hard. I'm still trying to find my voice.

"And you." Snow's tone is unmistakably terse.

I sigh and give in. "Gale Hawthorne."

We've definitely caught them by surprise because no one knows quite what to say. A Capitol-looking person – green hair, crazy gold eyes – taps something furiously into a pad that he's holding. I wonder if it's some computer like what the boss at the mine uses to keep track of production. He glances up at use from it and I wonder if he must be looking us up somehow. Babies get registered at birth and as far as I know, we're tracked and counted our whole lives. Never had much time to put thought into it.

"Do you… is it normal, to hunt for animals here?" One of the guests forces a question, probably in attempt to deal with the silence over their genuine curiosity. Their command of our language is good, but it's still difficult for me to understand their pronunciation.

"Uh…" Katniss breaths. I can see Snow's eyes narrow and I try to piece together why someone from elsewhere would care.

"It's a little _unusual_," I say quickly.

"We do it for sport," she adds. "For…fun." Under normal circumstances, I would snicker at her description, because while we get some kind of pleasure from it, _for fun_ is not the reason I test an electrified fence on a daily basis.

"You're a long way from home." This snide voice is definitely a Capitol crony of some sort and I'm worried we'll be ratted out.

"Not really," Katniss explains in a rush. "My father used to bring me here. We're within walking distance. It's an easy way back home." She's absolutely horrible at lying, but her desperation might get lost in translation. I'm about to scream I'm so on edge right now. She catches the look in my eyes and senses this. She takes my hand in hers again and that helps, but I'm still looking at the source of all my hostility and pent-up rage straight in the eye.

Snow's eyes follow the sky and he speaks after a moment. "A long walk back tonight to your district, I'd like to think." We don't answer.

A severe looking woman who looks impatient speaks up. "Well, why not invite them back to camp? You keep going on about your hospitality, at any rate. They can make better time and be safer in the morning. Plus, I'd hate to see that venison go to waste." She looks me directly in the eye. She's got a steely look in her eye that I can't quite read. "I don't suppose you know how to dress the game you shoot for sport?"

If this woman is trying to get us killed, she's doing a great job.

The other voices chime in, agreeing with her. Someone mentions how they've never had wild game and before I know it I'm demonstrating to the non-squeamish in the group the proper way to gut a deer. Katniss has been pulled aside by the fainter of heart and I notice they've taken her quiver and bow. Keeping an eye on her and the task at hand is not easy and I almost knick myself with my knife twice. I'm hoping they don't notice the slight tremor I've picked up. After I'm finished they take the knife from me and pat me down for other weapons. Soon a convoy of all-terrain vehicles shows up and I help a man with dusky skin and a thick accent hoist the carcass on the back of one of the trucks. He's very excited about the hunt but I can only pick up about half of what he says. I'm still processing what's going on. The presence of foreigners has only delayed my death, I'm sure.

The sun's gone down behind the darkening clouds and the wind's whipping around with a little more force than before. I'm led to an empty seat in one of the vehicles and we take off. There's an old asphalt road from before the Dark Days, so the terrain is pretty bumpy, but I'm impressed at how smooth a ride this is. There's about six of us inside, seated in a circle behind the driver and navigator. It winds through our mountains and over some decently-kept bridges. This far out, and their infrastructure is still better than ours.

The dusky-skinned man opens a flask and passes it around. I'm grateful for whatever it is inside, not feeling the slightest bit bad as I take a moderate pull from the bottle. The burn reminds me that I'm still in this game yet, but I've got no clue what the next play is. For the most part, the mood is friendly and there's no Capitol people besides the drivers in this car. They quiz me about myself as they play a card game over a small table. I pick up on the rules quickly and they deal me in a hand. Winters around the Hob mean a lot of card games, and these ones aren't so different from our own. Different rules, different tricks, same jokes. It's about the same experience.

They ask about my parents, my siblings and my life in general as I try to keep track of what direction we're headed. I hardly had a grasp on where we were earlier and I'm hoping Katniss is doing a better job of it in case we get a chance to make a break for it. A group of chatty, smiling women directed her into a similar vehicle that was blazing ahead of us.

"Looking forward to the games?"

I turn to a smiling man whose features are as familiar as Snow's in a way. He's in his mid-twenties, almost bronze skin, and hasn't stopped smiling since we got in the car. It's begun to rain now and the the cards have been abandoned – it's too dark to do anything now. I strain to look at him again before I answer his question. "Sorry, what was that?"

"The games. They're coming up. I was hoping you could tell our visitors here what fun they are for the nation." Suddenly it clicks who the hell it is sitting across from me, buttering up these strange people. I don't remember much from Finnick Odair's winning game – I was only eight at the time – other than the boys in the playground playing a game we called Trident Killer, where we fought over three-pronged sticks and poked each other until the mothers of District 12 collectively decided enough was enough. But Finnick Odair has been a fixture on Panem's television culture ever since. He preens, he seduces, he charms the crowd. Of course I've never met him til now, but I can't help but to kind of hate him.

"We're just dying to see what happens this year."

The strange visitors gape at what I've said and the guy up front giving directions whips around to glare at me. Only Finnick seems to appreciate the joke, hiding a smile behind his hand as he stares out the rain-streaked window.

What an ass. But I take it as a win: he drops the subject and we carry on in silence.

* * *

After awhile, lights appear in the distance and we finally pull up to a large house, circling the cars in the front. it looks a lodge that's three times the size of District 12's Justice Building and ten times as ornate, at least from the outside. It's in a style that predates the Dark Days. My dad used to get a kick out of that stuff and his own grandpappy was known for his oral history. Antebellum, I think the word is. I catch myself staring as we climb out of the car, momentarily forgetting the danger I'm in.

Katniss beelines toward me and takes my hand, holding it tight. "Don't leave me again," she growls, her voice low. "I couldn't string two words together the entire trip, I was so scare they'd take you away. And those ladies talked _a lot._"

"Were there Victors in your car?" I ask in a whisper. "Finnick Odair was asking me how we enjoyed the games."

She rolled her eyes. "There were three stylists in my car. What I wouldn't _give_ to discuss mass youth homicide over fabric and patterns. What the hell is tulle?"

Before I can muster an answer two new faces take us by our arms and whisk us away from the crowd. At first Katniss's hold on my hand becomes a death grip. But it's apparent that by their chatter, unless they're total sociopaths, that these people mean us no harm.

"How exciting! District folk!" one chirps, her pea green skin looking sallow against Katniss's own healthy, sun-kissed complexion. "Don't worry. The President's sent us for you. We'll have you washed and ready for dinner in no time at all!"

They split us up again and throw us into the largest bathroom I've ever seen. There's one at the mines that has communal showers so workers can rinse off after work, creating less mess for their homes. But there's no one to clean them and it seems more trouble than it's worth. This one room is twice that size and it's the very definition of cleanliness. I'm offer a hot tub behind a screen and I sink down into it, letting myself rest and collect myself as I try and figure out what they're playing at. I'm not surprised by the royal treatment. The Capitol's liked to play with their prey before they kill it for almost seventy-five years – why should I believe they're any different than with their hostages? Which is what I am.

_Fuck_. I spend five years being man of the house, keeping a low profile to make sure my little brothers and sister see another day, and what the hell do I do? _Get caught in a capital offense by the president himself. _But it can't be helped. I'm probably going to be dragged in the woods later tonight and shot point blank. They'll tell the foreign so-and-sos we left of own accord at daybreak and that'll be that. They wouldn't be so stupid as to question the power of the Capitol, would they?

As much as I'd love to think about that, my stomach's growling and I resolve, if I am to die tonight, that I will die a well-fed man. I scrub down and rinse and dry myself off. There's a razor and a cup of foam next to a mirror, so I shave, too. I poke my head out to see if my clothes are anywhere to be found.

The man with the orange corkscrew hair chuckles when I ask. "You couldn't wear _that_ old thing to dinner! It'd take away everyone's appetite. Wear this instead." He hands me a pair of brown trousers, a clean pair of boxers, and a cotton knit shirt that's green. There's a nice pair of boots I'm a little envious of. Well made, waterproof leather and I can't imagine they've had any more stress than someone going to dinner. I put it on behind the curtain and come out.

"Hold on," the freakish Capitol guy says. It's hard to hold my tongue when there's a man in front of thinking he doesn't look ridiculous in _purple lipstick_. I'm of the opinion most women look garish in lipstick anyway. He runs a comb through my hair and squirts some goop into his hands, working it into my damp scalp. I grimace and he laughs. "No makeup then, I take it? That's fine, you don't really need it. Doesn't fit the rustic look we're going for anyway. That's it, for now at least." I grumble a thanks and walk towards the door. He calls after me, "You know, you should feel lucky! Not many people have such a camera-ready face!"

I roll my eyes as I walk out the door. Another familiar face pushes past me to enter – another district's mentor whom I've seen on TV, I realize after a minute – and I look around to see where I need to go.

"The dining hall is down the corridor and to your right." Another Capitol man, less grotesque that the one who assaulted my hair, has appeared from around the corner and is about to go into the women's dressing room. He's got the least amount of accent I suppose someone from that place can have and has minimal makeup, though even he can't seem to help himself from applying gold to his eyes. These fucking people.

"Is Katniss in there?" I ask.

"She'll be a few minutes. We're getting her ready."

"I'll wait."

"Suit yourself." He points to a sofa across from the door and I take a seat, trying not to think of everything but doing it all the same. How my mother won't worry when I don't come home tonight but tomorrow she'll start to fret. There's a pang of guilt as I realize I'll cost her a couple of sleepless nights. She'll figure something out because she always does, but I'm thinking of Rory and tesserae and everything I've built to protect them crashing down around us. Way to make a mess of things, Gale. And all for that _damn deer._ At the thought, my stomach rumbles loudly.

The doors burst open and a young woman in a sunny yellow dress marches out. Her hair falls gracefully in large curls around her shoulders and she storms right on over to me. My eyes blink a few times before it registers. "Don't say a _word,_ Hawthorne."

Her cheeks are painted with a blush and there's a dark glint on her eyelids that makes her eyes look metallic. The dress hugs her body in all the right ways and falls a little below her knees. I have never seen her in a dress outside Reaping Day, I realize. Her lips are full and painted a glimmering dark pink and it's not too bad. I realize how shocked I must be staring at her.

She isn't pretty. She isn't beautiful. She is as radiant as the sun.

We look at each other for a moment until she cocks her head at me and gives a little _hmm_.

"Hmm what?" I counter.

She shrugs. "You look…good. All cleaned up like that."

"You've seen me clean," I protest.

"Not like this," she replies. And she's right, but we both know the problem of relative and actual cleanliness when you live in a coal town. "Anyway, I'm starving and I look ridiculous. Let's go eat."

Despite the severity of our situation, however, I can't help but focus on the rest of it. "You're not ridiculous. You look…nice." _Nice_ is not the word I meant to say. It's a combination of _adorable, gorgeous, _and _sexy _ that I'm looking for, but coming from me…I'm not sure I've made myself that obvious to her. And I might not have the chance for much longer, but right now is not the time, despite her looking fantastic right in front of me.

She raises an eyebrow. "Just nice?"

"You're lovely. It's a pretty dress and I think it looks nice on you." I manage to say. It's about the only thing I can say without putting my foot in my mouth. I reach over and give a tug on one her curls. It's silky and soft. "I'm glad they didn't paint you into some horrible creature." She gives a light laugh, then stifles herself.

"C'mon, Gale. Let's try to enjoy this while we can." She pulls me toward where we're supposed to go.

"You're not scared?"

She turns around to face me. There's worry in her eyes and I know immediately what a stupid comment it was. Of course she's scared. She'd be a fool not to be. "What choice do we have?"

* * *

They seat us next to a pair from abroad who have tanned skin that has a slight yellow hue and dark eyes that are shaped like almonds. A few of the tributes in past Hunger Games have looked like them, but I couldn't say for sure. I'm guessing we've been put next to them because they speak our language very well and are good at asking neutral questions. I'm just glad that they haven't split Katniss and me up, because I am out of my element.

We're not slobs at home, but we're not the most cultured either. We don't have a full set of silverware to go around the table, just spoons, so I'm watching Katniss for clues on how to handle my utensils. Her mother must have taught her. It's a tedious process, using a knife and fork, but in a way it's good because it keeps me from inhaling the food in front of me.

To their credit, they've cook some of the venison we've provided into thin chops, seasoning it with pepper and some sort of marinade I can't identify. It's good, especially with the new red potatoes that have been boiled in their jackets. I eat a heap of them, which causes the woman next to me to joke about young men and their appetites.

"I was six feet by the time I was fourteen," I reply around a mouth of asparagus. "I haven't been full since."

The table laughs and I dig into a creamy dessert that's made with rhubarb. I'm guessing the Capitol can eat whatever they want whenever they want, but I'm enjoying their effort at eating what's in season around us. I've seen a spinach salad somewhere around here, and my nose is picking up on the delightful scent of morels that I'm confident I can tuck away. Besides, this is my last meal. I need to enjoy it, even if it's not going to count for a thing.

Katniss next to me is talking to the man who's been paired with us about Prim's goat, Lady, and what a good turn of luck it was for her family. She moves the food around on her plate but doesn't eat. I suppose if I were talking about my family I wouldn't able to choke anything down either.

"Ah yes, it's good for children to learn about business and responsibility at such a young age," he agrees after she describes Prim's cheesemaking. "But in school, how do they prepare you for work? For life?" he inquires.

Katniss, to her credit, appears thoughtful about how to answer. I know better, which is why I've focused on stuffing my face. She's drawing straws on what to say that won't expose the truth of how we live. It's apparent from what we've heard from these people that they think childhood is an idyllic thing that must be nurtured, and that hunting for sport is just something teenagers do in good old Panem.

"Well, there's the basics, of course," she stammers. I catch the smirk of one woman across the table and am shocked to recognize Johanna Mason, giggling into a pudding. Is she laughing because Katniss is floundering, or at the absurdity of our school system?

This abundance of Victors from the games has me perplexed at their attendance here, in the middle of nowhere. Haymitch Abernathy's life never had me once think that Victors could ever be anything but a drunkard, let alone useful, to the Capitol.

Katniss goes on about the coal studies that we do, pointing out that a particularly brainy student might get sent out the district to work on coal technology. But this is a rare thing, and the mines favor brawn over brains. She doesn't mention that. She mentions the lecture about Panem history once a week and the vocational training we receive. Cooking, mending, basic first aid, where to run if the coal dust explodes. The essentials of District 12.

She's been truthful and in my opinion, hasn't said anything that seems too outrageous. School is school – what else would they expect? When the man delivers his next line, though, it hits me. They've set her up to expose exactly what we _don't _learn in Panem.

"And what do you think of my country?" Then he says the name of his country, but he may as well be speaking jibberish. It doesn't register to her ears or mine. That's because Panem keeps a tight grasp on maps and basic propaganda about most foreign places. I have no idea what my country looks like. My dad used to tell me that the Earth is a sphere but I'm still not quite sure how that works, though it makes sense when you consider the sun and the moon. Other countries, though. That's a new one.

"Oh, you know, Katniss." Johanna Mason's voice is deeper than most girls – smoky, I guess you could say - and I have my answer: she's having fun torturing Katniss. "Across the western ocean, right below…" and she says the name of another place I'd be pretty clueless to figure out.

Katniss meets Johanna's eyes with steely resolve. "It's a lovely place, from what I hear," she says, teeth clenched. No one buys her sincerity, but that's not the point. The man and woman on either side of us nod and while they don't quite smirk, they've proven something for themselves. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the man pats Katniss's hand and offer her a sympathetic smile. Snow's staring them both down and suddenly all I've eaten doesn't agree with me. It's a small consolation that this will all be over soon and we've managed to be subversive in the meantime, but I don't want to think about her getting hurt when I can't be there to help it.

Dinner ends and some guests leave for the evening. I get pulled apart from Katniss again but she's within sight. The couple we talked to during dinner are explaining something to her and she's listening, eyes rapt with attention. I'm pulled over by Finnick and – the odds are not in my favor today – the president, who are back to the old question in the car: the Hunger Games.

"I'm sure if you'd ask a random person on the street, they'd tell you!" Finnick's really laying it on thick. "It's an _honor _to participate and it's an honor for the districts to send the tributes. Instant immortality, which is more than most can say about their lives."

The man they're talking to is not convinced. He's the same one who helped me get the deer on the back of a truck earlier today, but now he's dressed in what must be his national costume. Long flowing white robe, a headdress that looks simple but regal. Somewhere this style of clothing makes sense, and the cool feeling I get from looking at him is that he must be from a desert somewhere. "There's a reason we don't let our citizens travel your country, despite the offers you've extended. They're terrified they'd have to participate, let along watch your death games."

"_Hunger_ Games," Finnick corrects. "And there's no need to fear participation. That's just for the districts!"

"And the difference? From what I can tell, you throw a handful of starving children in an arena and let another group of less-starving children who've been trained to be killing machines take them out. Then they take each other out. And then, Mr. Odair, tell me what you're left with? Would you say your life is really your own?"

I've been given a small glass filled with ice and a liquor – rye, I think – but it's a great prop for hiding my smile, especially since Odair's cheeks turn a bright red that clashes with his hair. I knock back the liquid and wonder if I can get more.

"Mr. Hawthorne will be more frank with me, I think," the man guesses, and I decide that there's really no time like the present. I am a dead man walking, so why the hell not smart off to the president while I have his attention? We all know who has the power in this room, anyway.

"When I was twelve, my dad was still alive but times were tough. I had two little brothers and we went to bed hungry every night. Except the night I signed up for tesserae and after that." I explain the system of food for additional entries to the game and how it really did help the first year. Vick's cheeks filled out and his tiny stomach stopped bloating from the emptiness. Rory could concentrate in school. Instead of losing pregnancies, my mother finally kept one and her belly grew round and big again. Another mouth to feed, but we were doing okay. Dad could stash some money away for emergencies and I was spared in the Reaping that year. But then the explosion at the mine and Posy's entrance in the world made me take the tesserae again. Five entries my first year. Eleven the next. Eighteen by the time I was fourteen. Twenty-six at fifteen. And now at eighteen I've got forty-two slips with my name at a chance to fight for District 12 honor. I deliver the death blow to this man, so he gets it. "And you know what? We've sent fifty-two tributes the past twenty-five years. Fifty-two. You know how many came back?"

The man meets my gaze, returning the fury I must be emitting by this point. All the eyes in the room are on me at the moment and I don't care. The spark inside me is ignited and it's flaming bright. It feels _good. _"Tell me," he says simply.

"One. Just one. His honor is taking two kids each year and leading them to their death. So the whole country can watch them die, all in the name of retribution. So yeah, I guess you die with people knowing your name, just for a few minutes." I shrug.

"Just one man's opinion," Snow says after an excruciating silence. "But why don't we call it a night? We've got a big day planned for tomorrow."

The man in long robes turns to me. "I hope I can count on you to being in my party tomorrow?"

I'm taken aback by this, and Snow's face flashes fury. "Umm…"

"For the hunt," he clarifies. "Coriolanus here – " he gesture to the president, who's not looking amused at being put on the spot, "Has promised us an exciting hunt. And who better to pair up with than the best sport hunter in Panem?" He nudges me with his elbow in a conspiratorial way. "And the girl, too, of course."

"She's the better shot," I admit.

"No doubt. And your specialty, Mr. Hawthorne?"

"Snares," I say. "Traps. I'm a better tracker."

His face breaks in a grin. "It's settled then! I hope you don't mind, Mr. President. I know how keen you were to let these two youngsters get home, but a bet's a bet and I'm not leaving here without a pelt from Panem!"

Snow doesn't answer him and he walks out of the room. The severe-looking woman from earlier who suggested we stay the night is the only non-Capitol person left and her words confirm what I'm positive this man has done for us.

"I'm sure he meant alive and _un_tortured, Coriolanus. And we'll ask them about it in the morning. Good night." With that she leaves and it's Katniss, myself, three Peacekeepers, Finnick Odair, two higher ups who must work for the president, and Snow himself.

"You may go, Finnick." Odair looks like he might talk back for a second there, but he resigns and leaves, looking at us over his shoulder as he goes.

We're marched down through a maze of hallways to a secluded, dark area. I have no idea where we are in this house, but I'm pretty sure no one would hear us if we yelled. "We don't have a proper holding cell here, but trust me, that will be remedied." One of the Capitol men, the one with the electronic clipboard, is pressing his fingers against a pad on a door. "Surprising we haven't had more of you out in these woods."

We don't answer. Katniss is holding my hand again and she's shivering. The temperature's dropped and the dress she's in is thin. The door opens and he motions for us to go inside. I go before Katniss and raise my arm in defense in case there's someone within, but there's not. Just a bed, a table with a few chairs, and a door I can see that leads to small bathroom. It's opulent, but I can tell they've stripped it down to whatever the Capitol can pass for an incarceration cell in the middle of their massive, private hunting lodge.

"Miss Everdeen. Mr. Hawthorne. Your attention please." We turn to face the president, who's looking tired. I suppose it must be exhausting to lie to people's faces all day. "I won't bother to assume you know how unusual it is to hear the sentencing coming from myself, but you've put me in a very difficult position tonight. Each year we are visited by other nations of the world and we strive to uphold our ways of life, which are mocked and in need of defending in the greater world. Do you understand what kind of damage you've done today?" He swipes his hands in front of him, as if battling an imaginary moth. "It doesn't matter. We'll make do and convince them all. We have before."

"But your sentence. You will remain here for the duration of this diplomatic visit. Somehow you've charmed a few members of our visiting party and I'm keen not to upset them. You will perform when asked. You will not disclose information that puts this nation at risk. Am I clear?"

There's a fury blazing inside of me, but Katniss manages to bob her head.

"At the end of the week, per our legal code, you, Katniss Everdeen, will be put to death for poaching. I have yet to decide the matter of your demise.

"And you, Gale Hawthorne, shall be punished for accessory to said misdemeanor. We will cut out your tongue and you will join the serving class of Avox. I hope you both understand the severity of your actions and that any…followers in your footsteps will take note and reconsider acting against the best interests of Panem."

He looks from me to her, expecting reactions. We've got none. Besides not knowing what an Avox is, none of this is surprising.

"Very well. I will consider your silence acceptance of your fate. Any attempt to escape will result in untimely death, and your families _will_ suffer for it. We will hunt and you'll be our guides for these woods. Once again, am I clear?"

Her grip on me tightens but we say nothing.

"Excellent. Breakfast is at nine tomorrow. You'll find clothes and any other provisions you'll need in this room. Good night." He leaves, followed by his Peacekeepers and Scribes. The door closes and I hear a series of deadbolts lock into place.

Katniss releases my hand and walks straight over to the bed, collapsing on it. It's twice as wide was what I sleep on at home, about the same size the bed my mother, Vick, and Posy crowd on each night. I'm expecting her to break down, because at this point it'd be warranted, but she lays motionless. I walk over and sit on the opposite side, taking my boots off. There's a clock on a nightstand next to the bed, and it's got a lot of buttons and other gizmos on it. I'd love to look at it and figure out how it works, but my head's pounding I'm so tired.

"I'll sleep on the floor," I offer, pulling a pillow from the bed. The floor is plush with soft carpet, so this shouldn't be such a bad fate.

"Don't be stupid," a muffled reply comes from the bed. "There's enough room for both of us."

Smart in so many ways, clueless in so many others. There are a thousand reasons I'm not going to put her - or myself - in that position. "I don't know if that'd be proper," I say.

She lifts her head up to look at me. "Gale, we've slept next to each other how many nights when the fence's been on? This is the same. It's just a lot more comfortable. Besides, it wouldn't be fair." She hoists herself up and walks towards the dresser. She finds something that could pass for pajamas and goes into the bathroom. I copy and strip down to my boxers, adding a shirt for good measure. I tend to run hot when I sleep, but I'm hyper aware of not making her uncomfortable.

_At the end of the week, she'll be dead and you'll be as good as, _ I remind myself. It's a sobering thought. But I still care about her and what she thinks of me, and that's reason enough.

She emerges from the bathroom, face cleaned of make-up and her hair in a loose braid. I try to sleep on the floor and her reply is that she'll do it too, and no one will enjoy the bed. So I give in and we settle down, back to back. The lights are off and I'm ready to drift off, but she can't stay still.

"Go to sleep," I mumble.

"I'm too tired to sleep."

"That makes no sense."

She sighs loudly and turns to me, though my back is to her. "Gale, what are they going to do?" She doesn't have to say who. It's the same thought running through my head.

"I dunno. Be happy we disappeared in spring and not winter? At least the gardens are up. Lady'll give milk until winter and Rory's got enough pelts to go through for awhile."

"And after that?"

"I can't think about that right now."

"I can't afford not to."

"You say that, but there's nothing you can do." This shuts her up and not in a good way. I turn over to face her. There's a small window in the room and some moonlight provides a little illumination. I can see her wide, bright eyes, brim with tears. A few trail down her cheeks and I can't help but to brush them away. "Aww, Catnip. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"But it's true!" she chokes out.

I nod, because I'm not about to lie to her. Then, to my surprise, she scoots closer to me and wraps her arms around me, weeping into my chest. I pull her close and try to soothe her, but she brushes it off. It's not her to be unhinged like this, but it's strangely comforting to try to reassure her, even if she fights it.

"Damn it. I'm sorry. I just…it doesn't happen often, but I just break down sometimes."

I nod. "We're tired and it's been a hell of a day."

She pulls out of my arms and snuggles in on her side of the bed, wiping her eyes. Her knees bump into my thighs and I know if I wasn't so exhausted that would be driving me crazy. "Let's just go to sleep."

I nod and it takes no time at all. I'm out like a light.

* * *

_Next: The hunters become the hunted._


End file.
